


INVICTUS |Kiralfonse Fic Set|

by AlexandraMariaAnna



Series: Fire Emblem Heroes Collection [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Children, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reunions, SO, Slava is my summoner, Slice of Life, also i ship sharena and anna fight me, anyways thank you for clicking, blood tw, can and will consist of angst, dflksf hello, have fun reading fever stricken person's rambling, i love writing angst and it shows, if you're interested in my novelisation, informations about my summoner in first chapter if i have a good mood lol, just saying, keep an eye on my profile for "Non Omnis Moriar" very soon!, love you guys, most of them consist of canon written in my FEH novelisation project, most of there aren't connected chronologically, slava went through a lot, some things might diverge from canon, takes a bit more realistic side to war and pain, this is the dumpster for my Slava/Alfonse content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-08-20 15:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20229919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraMariaAnna/pseuds/AlexandraMariaAnna
Summary: Collection of fics, drabbles and fever dreams about the Summoner (Slava) and Alfonse. Might diverge from canon.---Invictus (lat.) - unconqueredSomehow, in some way, their hands found one another in the darkness.





	1. Slava Orion Kosov

**Full Name:** Slava Orion Kosov / Slava of Askr   
**Nickname: **Kos / Bear / The Peacebringer

**Age**: 19/22 (currently)

**Birthday:** 16th of July   
**Religion: **Ietist

**Occupation: **Violinist/Summoner/Queen

**Family Members and Significant others: **

  * Mother: Maria Viera Kosov
  * Father: Ivo Mikhail Kosov
  * Brother: Lev Ivo Kosov
  * Grandma and Grandpa (mother’s side): Ram and Lena Czesny
  * Grandma and Grandpa (father’s side): Nikita and Kamil Kosov
  * Aunt Agnieszka
  * Aunt Sabina
  * Aunt Vivian
  * Uncle Borys
  * Significant other: Alfonse Gustav of Askr
  * Vidarr and Var of Askr - Slava’s and Alfonse’s children (Book III onwards)
  * Askr, the dragon of the beginning and end, mother of all

**Relationship status: **Single (Book I) / Single (Book II) / Married (Book III)

**Nationality**: Russian/Polish

**City of Birth:** Żelazowa Wola

**Current place of living: **The order of Heroes / The royal palace

**Highest level of education: **Incompleted first year of college: Classical Music Composition

**Likes:**

  * Sweets
  * Apples
  * Sunsets
  * Traditional clothes
  * Reading
  * Boxing
  * Horseback riding

**Dislikes:**

  * Eggs
  * High temperatures
  * Lying
  * Going to bed early
  * Cleaning and housework
  * Spilling the writing ink

  
  


**BACKGROUND**

**Childhood and Teenage Years: **

Slava was born to a loving home of a Russian immigrant violin player Ivo and Polish seamstress Maria. Being an only child for a long time, she received all and more love from her parents ever since she was born. Slava wasn’t spoiled, however, - raised on traditional values of Slavic culture, her parents wanted to raise her up to be a loving and caring individual who could stand up for herself. And so they did. 

Allowed to choose her career path by herself, Slava chose human studies for secondary and high school, attending music school on Friday evenings and weekends. After passing the exams for both High School and Music School, without a problem, she enrolled at Warsaw University of Classical Arts. 

Pride of her parents, she stayed at home, opting for everyday transport to Warsaw and back, rather than staying in dorms. That, however, made interactions with her classmates more difficult, what resulted in her becoming awkward around them, and, not being brave enough to start a conversation, quickly becoming alienated.

That was partially the cause of the incident that changed her entire life. While preparing for her final presentation in college, she decides to skip the final rehearsal which was happening an hour before the actual presentation. Because of that, no one passes her the message that the order of musical numbers set to perform that night was changed. And, as one would expect, uninformed of such fact, she messed up the concert completely.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal, had it not been a concert joint organized by the National Orchestra. And had it not been on live TV. And had there not been the President in the audience. And had not everyone began to slander both her and the orchestra on social media.

After that, Slava escaped from the public eye by not leaving her home. Her parents, fearing she’s falling into depression, scheduled her a meeting with a psychiatrist.

Reluctantly, Slava agreed. On the night before the doctor’s appointment, Slava had a peculiar dream. In it, she talked to a beautiful woman, dressed in silks and crystals. She had aquamarine hair, with two ram-like horns protruding from her hair. Oddly enough, when Slava attempted to look into her eyes, instead of seeing normal, human-like pupils she saw a sea of glistening gold, slowly swirling like a never-ending spiral. She was sitting on the edge of a spring, her hair becoming one with the water they dipped in. She was brushing the hair of a small girl, dressed in an oversized shirt, her hair golden like the eyes of the woman that sat behind her.   
Slava wanted to ask questions, or touch them, but the moment her eyes met with the golden pools, she spoke to her, and the voice came not to her ears, but straight to her brain. “Good luck, child of light,” she said, and with a wild scowl, the small girl launched herself at her, sinking her surprisingly animal like teeth into Slava’s side. The moment Slava’s blood touched her lips, she smiled, and with an animalistic growl, disappeared.   
Slava woke up.   
The visit was close and she had to go, however, the pain in her side, even though there was no wound there, gave her hell the entire day. The moment she stepped into the public bus she was supposed to take to the city center, she felt pain, similar to pulling erupt from her side, and in a blink of an eye, she was gone.   
Disappeared.

And then, when she opened her eyes, she was in Askr - with a new purpose, new goals, new future. 

**PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS:**

**Addiction: **Tea. Well, I wouldn’t call it an addiction, but she feels a lot of craving when she doesn’t drink it for a long time.

**Bad Habits: **Bites her nails. After becoming the summoner, she puts gloves on her hands.

**The color of eyes: **Blue/green

**The color of hair: **Ebony black

**Color of skin:** Pale

**Height: **167 cm

**Weight:** 61 kg


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slava and Sharena have a conversation.

** _I can’t say for sure if I’m in love, but the idea’s nice, isn’t it?_ **

There was something in the way Sharena said it, that made Slava raise her eyebrows. Golden hair flowing in the spring wind, eyes focused on something in the distance. The princess was the usual image of ethereal beauty, just like her mother. Her words, however, didn’t match her every day, cheerful persona. There was longing, painful and laced with poison stuck between the wise words, and her clenched fist betrayed her true feelings. 

“It’s about Anna, right?” Slava finally spoke, causing her friend to jump slightly and look at her bewildered. “You think you’re in love with General Anna.”    
“How-? Why-?” the blonde stuttered, all sense lost on her tongue. Slava just smiled, but her heart ached. How much would she give to have someone put the truth about her like that on a silver platter. 


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Summoner wasn't prepared for witnessing death first-hand.

** _“Can you stand?”_ **

He called out to her not once, not twice, but three times before she nodded her head weakly and supported herself on one of the many lances that were abandoned on the battlefield. Her head spun and pounded as she tried to stop her knees from shaking, but they gave out easily, and Slava fell back onto the muddy ground with a splash, a disappointed whine leaving her bruised lips.   


“Come on.” Alfonse said, grabbing her hand with one hand and supporting her back with the other. She grunted as she felt one of her joints pop back into place.    
It was silent as they held each other for a while, their ragged breathing mixing with the almost inaudible sound of rain.    


“Do you need me to carry you back?” he asked as Slava trembled, from both blood loss and severe exhaustion. She nodded, not willing to make the long trek back to the camp.    
His embrace was warm,   
It smelled like home.


	4. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdowns and promises.

** _“Are we done with this, yet?”_ **

** _“Done with what? The mission?”_ **

** _“No, like this whole thing.”_ **

** _“The…the war?”_ **

** _“Yeah, I’m tired and I want to go home.”_ **

Bandages, bandages, and more bandages. A warm compress. A funeral for the deceased. Tears for the relatives. Stitches for the cuts.    


Slava had enough of that. The last year was so repetitive that she wanted to vomit. She met so many people, but she said her goodbyes to just as many, if not more. And now that the prophesied battle was upon them, her mind was bombarded with the one thought that she didn’t want to have. To run away.   


Alfonse sighed, wiping his forehead from the sweat that was inevitable in the August sun.    
“Slava. I can always send you back. I just need a few days to localize your dimension and you’re good to go.” he said, sitting next to her by one of the columns. Slava drew her knees closer to her chest.    
“Even though I’m the Summoner?” she asked, not willing to look Alfonse in the eyes. He just shifted a bit closer to her, their exposed shoulders now touching, both comforting and playful.

“Before ‘The Great Hero of Askr’, you’re Slava Kosov, you know? A human being and my friend.”


	5. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red mist and an unshakeable resolve.

** _“Time of Dying”_ **

What is left for Alfonse to bury?   
He buried his father, a king who gave his life for his son and the country that he loved until his last breath. 

He buried the memory of his best friend who disappeared into the morning mist one day and never came back.

He buried the idea of being worthy, focusing instead on being a supportive figure for his sister and the Order. 

He buried his sister soon after, the smell of white lilies driving him near insanity.

But now that he watched the blood-like Northern Lights that just appeared over the battlefield, his heart rose to his throat. He knew what these lights meant. He knew how Breidablik worked. He knew what happened to the last summoner.   


He would not let Slava go.    


He will not bury anyone else.


	6. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief moment of peace.

** _“This boredom’s got me all twitchy.”_ **

Lisa popped her head through the doorframe leading to the Summoner’s room. It was the middle of a scorching summer, and, discarding her usual robe, Slava was currently in the process of sewing herself another, much shorter skirt. She paused the swift moves of her fingers to stare the teenage girl down.   
“I’m sorry, but I can’t see how I can alleviate that problem, love.” she simply stated before returning to the, quite urgent, handiwork. Lisa pouted.   
“Of course you can alleviate the problem! You can join us in the common room and eat watermelon with us or something!” she waved her hands around, desperately trying to convey her message. Slava, however, didn’t even raise her eyes from the maroon material.   


“Yes, yes, of course, we have a watermelon on hand, even though I have not seen a single merchant selling them, or any gardener growing them,” she muttered to herself annoyed by the hindrance in her work.   
“And that’s where you’re wrong!” Lisa laughed, skipping closer confidently and grabbing the woman by her sleeve. “Laslov just got back from his mission, and brought back two watermelons he got from the Paralogue world!” Her smile was purer than the spring water from the nearby well.    


“Can I go after I finish?”    
“No! It will all be gone by that time! I’m sure Stahl already ate most of it…”    
Slava frowned. Stahl was indeed an incredible glutton, and surely, the temptation of a cold, sweet snack was irresistible. With a painful groan, she set the skirt aside and stood up, causing the small girl in front of her to jump with joy.    


“It better be worth my legs sweating for a few more hours.”


	7. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets.

** _“What are you hiding?”_ **

“I’m not hiding anything” he averted his eyes and walked away briskly. Slava raised her eyebrows. It was incredibly out of character for Alfonse to act so distant towards anybody, especially his best friend. He was always open to anyone - be that his research, his training, or even some of his secrets, most of which Slava got to know during that one moonless night.   
Somehow, in some way, she had a bad feeling about his behavior. Alas, she didn’t press further. Being pushy would most definitely not help her discover the truth, but might even lead towards an untasteful argument, or even a complete break of friendship. Slava could not risk that. 

She brought the matter up again, the next day, during breakfast, when she saw Alfonse’s hand twitch as he grasped a pitcher of water.    
“Are you okay? Does your hand hurt?” she asked, leaning over the table to help him get the drink. What she did not expect was Alfonse jerking his hand back, spilling the water over her in the process. A lot of emotions ran across his face in that moment. Fear, shock, hurt, relief - it was a mixture that Slava still could not decipher.    
“Sorry.” Alfonse muttered and stood up. He left the room with a slam of the door, his breakfast half eaten, and the bread soggy from water. The girl sat back down, aware of the eyes that were on her after that incident.    
It was the middle of the night when she cornered him in the hallway.    


“Alfonse.”   


He didn’t answer. His eyes still avoided hers, and that simple action made Slava’s heart feel like it was stabbed with thousands of thin needles. Did he not feel comfortable trusting her?   
“Please tell me what’s wrong. I’ve been worried about you for a while now.” she said, standing on the tips of her toes to match his eye level. Alfonse groaned.    
“I have nothing to say to you.” he barked and tried to leave. 

Slava was sick of this.

With one swift movement, she grasped his left forearm firmly, with all intent to make him stay in one spot. What surprised her, however, was the short scream that left his lips. Alfonse was in pain.    
“Follow me.” she said flatly, both worried and disappointed. Shockingly, Alfonse followed.   
When she undid his sleeve back in her room, Slava just sighed. A long, thin gash running all the way from his wrist to his shoulder has been bandaged sloppily. Was it even rinsed with water? Slava could swear that she saw specks of mud peeking through the dried blood.    


“Why would you hide this from everyone?” she asked, already preparing ointment and fresh bandages to properly take care of the wound. Alfonse hesitated for a moment, but knowing the position he’s in, he finally answered.   
“I did not want to worry everyone. That, and to waste medical supplies on something so trivial.”   
He said sheepishly, as Slava cleaned the gash.    
“Gods, you say such wise words all the time and yet you act so stupidly.” she waved the rag slightly. “You could have lost your hand has it gotten infected you know?”   
“I have a strong constitution.”   
“Oh really? And who’s been in bed for two weeks after Leon just sneezed at them?”   
Alfonse laughed, his eyes finally lighting up after a long time of just staring at the floor. Slava couldn’t help but giggle too. 

“I’m sorry for spilling water over you today.”   
Slava smiled widely, all sadness finally gone.   


“I needed a shower anyway.”   



	8. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future and Children.

**“She’s got a fever.” ** Slava took her hand off Van’s cheek and furrowed her eyebrows. “I guess the weather and the travel exhaustion really got to her.” she muttered, looking through her drawer for any cloth to dampen and put on her daughter’s forehead. Had she been back in her world, she’d get her some paracetamol and isotonic, but here? In Askr paracetamol did not exist, and “isotonic” sounded more probable to be a magic spell.    
“Should I get a healer?” Alfonse spoke as if reading his wife’s mind. Slava shook her head.    
“I don’t know. It’s not a physical wound, nor it is poisoning…”    
Alfonse sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, only stopping when his fingers met the gold of his crown. Vidarr shuffled to his father’s side.    


“I can get Brady… Or Miss Veronica…” he mused, pulling on his sleeve. Alfonse just ruffled Vidarr’s hair and spoke softly, as if to not disturb his sleeping daughter.    
“That’s really nice of you. However, I think the best thing that we all can do for your sister is to let her rest. Maybe you can go ask Father Wrys to help? He’s well versed in traditional medicine.” he glanced at Slava who nodded in agreement. Within seconds, the boy was out of the room, the sounds of his heavy shoes hitting the marble corridor echoing through the entire castle. 

“He’s such a good kid.” Slava said. She adjusted the wet cloth on Var’s head and sat down on the simple wooden stool next to her child. She glanced at her husband, who was still leaning on the doorframe. “You’re not going to do drills with the Order today?”    
Alfonse chuckled.   
“We’ve been doing them every day for the last year or so. I think everyone needs a break once in a while.”   
“You mean once in a year?”   
“Oh, shush.”   


The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by Var’s deep breathing and the sound of swords clashing outside. Were the red units training? Slava felt a bit bad about not being able to join them, but her child took priority in that situation. She’ll just have to join green units tomorrow and make up for the missed practice.    
She clenched her hands, the scars left by the Breidablik hard and leathery under her touch. Slava still couldn’t help but shiver uncontrollably when she recalled the Great Battle in which she lost her life not once, but twice. Had Askr, the dragon creator not loved her so much, she wouldn’t be here, nor would her children, Vidarr and Var. 

And because of that, she’d never stop being thankful for her experiences, even if the scars pound with a dull pain that wakes her up at night. The warmth of her husband by her side and the soft touch of a child’s hand on her scarred hand as they hang onto her for real life was just enough to make her bear it.


	9. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surtr falls.

**His hands had never felt so cold ** as he looked at Surtr, for what would, hopefully, be the last time. Tip of Folkvangr to his throat, Surtr now looked like a pathetic excuse of a man - hair matted with blood, lazy eye, mix of blood and fluids leaking from his ears. Anyone could see that he was on death’s doorstep. And yet, he smiled, his sharp teeth taunting Alfonse from behind Surtr’s chapped lips that bent into a taunting grin. Alfonse’s blood boiled.   


“How’s the little hero, princeling? Still has that surprised look on her face?” Surtr gurgled, flecks of blood flying out of his mouth and landing on his, now scorched, beard. Alfonse’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. The white of Surtr’s teeth was blinding. He wanted to knock them out one by one and stab these into his eyes. But the taunting didn’t stop there.   
“It was very easy, you know? Grab their face, tighten my fist and surely enough they start screaming in pain, writhing and grabbing at my hands-”   
“Shut up.” Alfonse’s hand shook, the tip of his sword drawing a bit of blood out from Surtr’s skin. Surtr was a prisoner of war. He was to be taken back to Askr and prosecuted for his crimes, for the genocides, for the destruction he has caused. 

His father once said that in the times of war he should be a soldier first, prince second, and a human third. It was difficult to stabilise his hand however, as he thought of Gunthra’s screams of agony when she burned to death from under Surtr’s hand. Hellbindi, who only wanted happiness for his little sister, face broken and eyes clouded over with tears of fury as he learned of her tragic passing. His smile as he died, content with being at least able to stand up to his oppressor. The image of Nifl burning, the kind and loving people who just a few days earlier welcomed him and Slava with open arms screaming in pain and heartbreak as the result of years of work disappeared in front of their eyes.    


Alfonse bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to feel the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.    
Surtr was taunting him. He wanted Alfonse to kill him, to force him into the biggest sin a representative of a country could commit. Did he want to escape from prosecution? Or was it only the great finale to his dark and slimy legacy of evil and bloodshed? Alfonse didn’t know.    
“Do it, princeling. Or do you want to bring me into the heart of Askr yourself, and to watch as I burn it down.” Surtr laughed, insanity already claiming his mind. 

Stay calm. Breathe deeply. Wait for the convoy.   
“I will destroy everything you care for. The kingdom you fought so valiantly to protect, the people you cherished, the bonds you made!” Surtr lifted his head slightly, driving the tip of his sword deeper into his throat. “None will be left standing when I enter your land!”

Breathe deeply. Don’t make a rash decision.

“And you know what? You just gave me an amazing idea.”   
Calm down.   
“I’m not going to kill you right away. I gave you a chance to kill me. I will let you live too. I’ll let you witness as I murder your stupid sister, as I gauge her eyes out and make her choke on them. I’ll make you watch as I rip the little Hero’s head off and then take off every joint of their-”   


Slash.   


It took Alfonse a second to realise what he just did. The blood sprayed from the cut artery, and stained his clothes, his face, his blade. His eyes widened in horror. Did… Did he just…   


“Murderer.” Whispered Surtr, and just like that, he was gone, the flame of his life extinguished.   
Alfonse committed the greatest sin. And as he furiously wiped the blood from his face, he swore to never in his life admit to what he has just done.


	10. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The disappearance of Slava Kosov

**“You’ve got thirty seconds to explain to me what you’re doing here.” ** Slava muttered, her hands clutching the spear so tightly her fingers would break if she made her grip any tighter. Loki just crossed her legs, seemingly amused by Slava’s pale face and sloppy shaky lance pointed at her face. Perhaps it was just the sleeping gown haphazardly thrown on when Loki suddenly appeared in her washroom, scaring her half to death. Perhaps it was the fact that she ran out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, grabbing a massively oversized lance that was given to her by Ephraim for refine and repair. The facts were, however, that Loki was there, and knowing her, trouble would follow very soon.

“Don’t shake so much, darling, or you’ll drop this lance and hurt yourself.” Loki cooed and waved her long, slender finger. Slava huffed, embarrassed, but snapped back to reality quickly.   
“I asked you a question.” She stepped closer to the woman (alas shakily). Loki was unamused.   
“I’m here to tell you to go back to where you came from.” she said flatly, for the first time in forever dropping her cheery tone.    


Slava nearly dropped the weapon. What?   
“Quite frankly, you coming here put quite a damper in Great Father’s plan for Askr. The First Summoner already created a bond with the ancient dragons, so we don’t really, like, need you here.” Loki twirled a strand of her hair on her finger as she looked Slava from head to toe. The girl averted her eyes, her head a mess. First summoner? Ancient Dragons? That was the first time she heard of these things. “Other than that, you summoning all these people is kind of abusing the time and space continuum. We’re, well, experiencing quite a bit of a mess up there in Valhalla.”   
“Val...Halla?” 

“Ah nevermind.” Loki waved her hand dismissively, and finally stood up, the staff materialising in her hand. “I’ll just send you back. Relax, breathe deep and it will be over before you know it.”   
Finally it clicked. Slava’s eyes widened in terror as she realised what was about to happen. Her blood ran cold and her heartbeat quickened. She shook her head furiously, looking around for any way of escape. 

There was none. 

“Wait, Loki, we can talk this through…” her voice trembled. Breidablik was momentarily in King Gustav’s possession, Alfonse was in his quarters, Eprhaim was going to come back in more or less three hours - it was, in any way you looked at it, a lose-lose situation. Loki just smiled.   
“It was nice knowing you.”   
And just like that Slava Kosov, the Grand Hero of Askr and the Beloved of the Gods disappeared.


	11. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions and tears. Can be considered a continuation of IX.

** _“You thought you’d never see this person again, yet here they are... albeit looking quite a bit different.”_ **

The classroom was perfectly silent as the new music teacher, Slava Kosov finished the presentation of the student’s piece. The final note was still suspended in the air when she put the violin down and spoke in a soft, hushed voice:  
“Wonderful piece, Lena. I see what your previous teacher meant when he said that one can truly touch the music when you write it.” she praised the redheaded girl who bowed her head politely in thanks from the back row. “Does anyone have any feedback on the piece they can offer to Lena?”  
A boy by the window raised his hand. 

“Yes, Vita?”

“Even though the end of the piece is really immersive, the beginning is slightly boring and repetitive. I’d recommend turning up the tempo in the first minute or so, and cut down on the repeating theme” he spoke, shyly avoiding eye contact with the teacher. Slava smiled.  
“Thank you so much. While we’re at it, how about I play your assignment next, Vita? Your progress over the last month has been incredible, I can’t wait to see what you’ve created this time.”  
Vita blushed, and with shaking hands handed Slava the clear file containing his piece. She looked through it briskly, and simply nodded her head. That simple action was enough to calm the small boy down.“This piece is called ‘Pretense”. Written by Vita Antonov, performed by Slava Kosov. Everyone, take notes please.” she spoke in a hushed tone, eyes half closed as she fine tuned her violin. The class was already silent. 

In their eyes, the new music theory teacher was a mysterious person. No one saw her before, yet she claims to have been born and raised in the area. She had scars on her entire body, peeking from under her white shirt. They knew that she was using make-up to hide them on her face. No one knew how far they spread. She was the most known between students however, for her golden hair ornament. It almost looked like a crown. There was also a ring matching the crown - a simple golden band with a white gem. And yet, she didn’t seem to be married.  
‘Pretense’ was a heart-tugging piece. Long notes rang in the air as Slava played them, putting the class in a state of trance, like with every other one that she played that day. There was something in that song that made their heart skip a beat however. The sheer amount of pain and longing that this piece gave off caused them to hold their breath for a moment, only releasing when the piece came to a deafening crescendo. 

The bow left the strings. Those who sat in the front row could see a single tear leave the teacher’s eye as she stared into the distance, her eyes seemingly locked at something far, far away. 

The silence was broken by the door to the classroom being abruptly opened, the disheveled face of the school janitor peeking through the door frame. He looked around for a second, before his panicked eyes set on the teacher, now at full attention. He pointed a shaky finger at the woman in front of the class.  
“You!” he seethed out, his teeth chattering to the rhythm of an unknown melody. “There are some weirdly dressed men running around the school searching for-” his thin lips bending in disgust “someone called Queen Slava of Askr.”  
There was a sudden crash, as the teacher dropped the violin she was holding, her face going pale at first, then pale and motionless, and finally rosy and as surrounded by stars. It was the first time that the class saw her smile, and really, it was quite a sight. 

The stern and unapproachable teacher, took a water bottle that was resting peacefully on the desk and poured its contents on her hand, and on the floor. With the now wet hand, she rubbed her face furiously.  
The moment that the hands left her face, the class saw it. A big, pinkish scar that covered most of the left side of her face, spreading to her neck, and only God knew where else. She then looked at the class, a rare and beautiful smile graced her features. 

“The class is adjourned.” she laughed, and, taking the hem of her skirt in her hands ran out of the classroom, only saying ‘sorry’ as she pushed by the janitor still blocking the doorway.  
Little Vita, still standing in place in which he handed Slava his piece, shook slightly, bewildered at what he has just seen. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air, his eyes wide. “It’s like my dream.” he whispered, picking the violin and dusting it off, smiling as he saw a long crack along the body of the instrument. “It’s just as my dream.”

Slava ran through the hallways, her hard heels clacking against the still quiet hallway. There were voices in the distance. Voices with that thick, nordic-like accent that she learned to love and call her own. She sped up, running by the geography room, by the principal’s office, by the canteen. Slava was short of breath, and her eyes were getting foggy with… tears? 

She swallowed back the knot that was forming in her throat.  
  
She saw the first glint of the golden armor that she saw every day in Askr.  
It was a man, tall and proud, struggling with what seemed like a really tired maths teacher, observed closely by his class, peeking from behind the door to A143. The moment that the armored man spotted Slava speeding down the hallway, he froze, instantly letting go of the teacher, who was growing increasingly confused.  
“Your Majesty!” he stammered, his hand shooting up in a salute. Slava bowed to him, and smiled so widely, that the soldier thought he would go blind.  
“Your Majesty? Kosov, what does that madman mean?” the man on her ground barked, his eyes switching between heaving Slava and the armored assailant. The soldier's face darkened, and his hand left his forehead to unsheathe his sword. 

“You dare speak that way to Queen Slava of Askr, Savior of the Land, Chosen of the Gods-”  
“Stop that. It’s an order.”  
“Of course!” the sword was back in the sheath, and Slava exhaled shakily. She breathed slowly for a moment, trying to get her pulse back in check. There was one question that she just had to ask, however.  
  
“Is.... Is he here?” she asked, nervously fondling the hem of her burgundy skirt. The soldier smiled softly, and nodded, making Slava’s stomach do a somersault. “Please show me the way!”  
“As you wish.”  
And with that, they were off, now speed walking down the stairs, leaving the confused gazes behind. There were more and more soldiers as they ran downstairs, who saluted and vivated as she passed them by, her eyes searching for that recognisable blue hair, tipped with radiant gold. 

Finally, the ground floor. There were many students, teachers and onlookers mingled in-between the armored red units of Askran Army, but there came an immediate silence as she took the final step down the stairs. Eyes. Hundreds of eyes that looked just at her. 

And then, the pair that she was searching for.  
  
He was there, by the main entrance, surrounded by adults who questioned who he was, and what he was doing in this private high school. Wearing his crown, the cape that was passed down by his father. The golden and silver armor. The gauntlets that they both spent countless nights on repairing. Finally, the earring he got as a gift from Slava herself.  
It was him. It was really him. Alfonse.  
  
Her Alfonse. 

His strong hand pushed the angry people aside - when did he grow that strong? - and he took a careful step forward. As if she were to disappear into the wind if he got too close, just like a vision caused by a sickness. 

“Slava?” he asked, his voice now deeper, but still laced with kindness. She just nodded her head, her throat too clogged by upcoming tears to say anything. Alfonse took in a sharp, shaky breath, and if you stood closer, you’d notice his eyes clouding over with water.  
Another step. Another. Another. And now he was running, people making way for him as he ran, faster, and faster, and faster.  
  
And then she was in his arms.  
The smell of home enveloped both of them, and Slava choked back a loud sob, burying her face in his neck, taking in everything she missed over these three years. His hands curled around her slender figure, nails digging into her blouse, still white, and still lined with the embroidery he could recreate to the single thread if he needed too.  
“I missed you so much.” he sobbed, his legs growing weak as he clutched Slava for dear life, as if she were to fly away. Slava smiled softly, warm tears running down her face as she petted his disheveled hair.

“Me too. Oh Gods, me too.” she said back, not minding the soldiers that were quietly wiping away tears, or the people who were on the brink of calling the police. 

Finally they parted, hands still connected, a wide smile visible through the tears. The king was a human, a human with emotions. Someone yelled ‘long live the Queen!’ and others began repeating it like an echo. She laughed, and her laugh sounded like wind chimes on a summer day.  
Alfonse squeezed her hand gently.  
“Shall we go home?” He said, and she smiled, but hesitated for a moment, looking back at the stairs.  
  
“Can I say goodbye to my students? I’m afraid I’ve grown quite attached.”  
Alfonse just sighed, but knew that after waiting three years, he was willing to wait another ten minutes. “I’m coming with you though. Not willing to let you go now.”  
They turned around, with all intentions to head back to the third floor, but there was no need to. The students were already there, piled up in the stairway, staring in awe at what seemed like a knight embracing their music teacher. Slava smiled, her face already hurting from stretching it so much that day.

“Are you going away, professor?” Mira, the girl who always sat in the front row, right in front of the teacher’s podium asked, pushing through the crowd. Her uniform was disheveled, her hair a mess, and her eyes were brimming with what seemed like tears threatening to spill any moment.  
Slava stepped closer to the children, Alfonse following her like a lost puppy, still clutching her hand like his life depended on it. The kids looked at the man looming over the woman who now seemed much more royal and sacred than the teacher who just minutes ago was playing soft, heartwarming pieces in the sunbathed classroom. 

“Yes. I’ll be going home now. I have people waiting for me, you know?” she spoke, and the tears spilled from Mira’s eyes. She was the one who always followed the black-haired woman around, offering help at every occasion. And now the teacher she beloved will be gone. But like a big girl, she wiped her eyes, instead focusing her bloodshot eyes on Alfonse. 

“Mister, are you miss Slava’s husband?” she asked, and Alfonse raised his eyebrows in amused surprise.  
“Yes. We’ve been married for about a year before Slava came here.” he explained, squatting down to match Mira’s height. The girl looked at him carefully, as if examining if he’s telling the truth, and not just spinning a web of lies. She couldn’t find any fault in his words however, and with much lighter heart, she spoke again, getting really close to Alfonse’s face.  
“Then please take good care of her.”  
Alfonse smiled.  
“Of course.”

“Professor! Professor please wait a moment!” a small voice cried out from the back of the crowd, and Slava, surprised, stood on her tiptoes to see who was calling out her name. It was little Vita, clutching a stack of papers, struggling to get through the crowd. Slava laughed softly, and motioned for Alfonse to help, who, sporting the widest smile she has seen in her entire life, stepped into the crowd of ten-year old children and fished Vita out of the crowd, putting him on his shoulder. 

The boy, suddenly elevated at an incredible 177 centimeters, became momentarily shell-shocked, but the collective gasps of awe snapped him back to his senses. Quickly checking if the papers in his hands didn’t get damaged, he turned to look at his teacher.  
“Ah, Professor…” He stuttered as Alfonse headed back towards her wife, the child safely perched on his shoulder. “This is for you.” Vita pushed the papers into his teacher’s chest, blushing profusely. Slava raised her eyebrows.  
“Thank you so much, Vita, but… What is this?” she asked, thumbing through the pages.  
“It’s… It’s a piece I wrote. It was supposed to be for my graduation next year but… I want you to have it because… because…” he choked back a sob, as Alfonse patted his back slightly, comforting him in his emotional endeavor. “I’m really thankful for you teaching me these past three years, and believing in me, and not letting me dropping out in the first grade and… and…”  
He was now full on sobbing, and Slava, choking back tears herself, reached up to take him off his husband’s shoulder. Having done so, she hugged him tightly, making sure the papers don’t get wrinkled.  
“Thank you, Vita. I’ll make sure to master it and play it for you one day.” she whispered into his silver hair, and the small boy whimpered softly as she set him down.  
“Does that mean that you’ll visit?” he asked?  
Slava nodded.  
“How could I leave my favourite kids behind?”  
  
“Slava, it’s time.” Alfonse said, grabbing her hand again, and she nodded, turning around to wave to the kids again. They waved back, some jumping up furiously to make sure they get a good look at their beloved teacher before she leaves for a long time. Mira, still in front, cupped her hands around her mouth and just as they were about to leave the building through the main entrance, she yelled.  
“Make sure to visit! You too, Mister Husband!”  
Alfonse laughed, his laughter filling the air with spring. 

“It’s Alfonse!” he shouted back  
  
And just like that, they were gone. Slava, Alfonse, the soldiers - all disappeared in a second, leaving everyone but Slava’s class confused. The kids wiped their tears and started heading back to the third floor. They had to practice to make Miss Slava proud when she visits, after all. 


	12. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> embriodery and poppies

**“Am I doing it right?” ** he asked, his hands shaking slightly as he fiddled with the needle. Slava sighed, and without a word just adjusted his hand.   
  
“Like I said, just keep in the lines and you’ll be okay.” she whispered as she watched Alfonse poke it into the linen material. The red thread slipped through the hole, and Alfonse exhaled shakily. “Is it that nerve-wrecking?” Slava laughed, as she took her own material into her hands.   
Alfonse shook his head.   
  
“No, it’s just… I’ve never done this before. I’m sure mother taught Sharena embroidery, but I’ve never had the chance to learn.” he shrugged, attempting to poke the needle back up in the correct spot. “I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake and ruin it.”   
“You just have to pull on the thread lightly and take the needle out of the hole you made. Linen is forgiving, unlike other materials.” 

Her fingers worked swiftly, the yellow yarn dancing on the material as if it were alive. Alfonse found himself mesmerised in the work - up, down, up, down, up, down, and repeat until the yarn runs out, or it’s time to change the color. The assortment of colorful threads laid strewn across the room, creating patterns that no one could reproduce on the mattress behind them.

“What are you trying to make anyways?” she asked, glancing over at the man next to her.  
“Poppies.” he muttered, a rosy blush of embarrassment covering his face. “I know you like them.”  
  
Slava smiled softly, not even noticing that she placed the needle in the wrong place.   
  
“I do.”


	13. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fragileness.

“No, no, hey, look at me. It’s me. I’m real. We’re getting you out of here.”  
“Milady, please, there is no time for dawdling, we need to retreat immediately.” A soldier, already holding one of his injured colleagues over his shoulder yelled at Slava, who, not minding the overall panic in the ranks attempted to drag away one of the wounded archers.

“Come on. Come on. You can make it, talk to me.” she wheezed out, looking around for anyone who could help her. “What’s your name?”   
The soldier grunted something barely audible, his right hand clutching his chest, blood visible through his fingers, the gauntlet long forgotten in an attempt to keep himself alive just a moment longer.   
“Ravis. Wonderful name. I knew someone named Ravis — he played the cello in the orchestra I was in before I became a summoner. Wonderful guy, he’s great at cooking and his little sister makes clothes by herself-”

Slava was babbling; partially to keep the soldier awake, and most definitely to keep herself sane. The smell of death was overwhelming — the raw, steel like scent of blood making her head dizzy and the contents of her stomach rise to her throat.   
She wasn’t supposed to be there.   
Gods above she was not supposed to be there!

She was supposed to be in her room, thumbing through music scores, listening to the latest songs and yelling at her cat for scratching the doorpost, not… This! There was no way this was real. That was a dream. Yeah. That was the only explanation.

_And yet the feeling of warm tears on her face and the odor of blood was very real._

Slava slipped on mud, her entire back hitting the ground with a thud, Ravis letting out a painful wheeze as his ragdoll-like body crumpled down, motionless. The young girl swallowed back a sob, just for it to be replaced with bile and that morning’s breakfast. She turned her head to the side, emptying her stomach until it hurt. The pain kept her grounded to real life.

“Milady?” Ravis asked quietly, his eyes looking for recognition and solace in the summoner. The said icon however was at the moment covered in her own vomit, looking away through eyes clouded with tears. “Are you all right? Are you wounded?” he added, pressing a hand to his chest harder so the bleeding would stop at least momentarily.

“I’m all right. You should take care of yourself.”  
“But Milady-”

“_Please_.” she sobbed, standing up from the mud, attempting to grab Ravis again. “If I see another dead body I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it.”

Ravis didn’t speak again, allowing himself to be dragged towards the camp. It took a while before he felt another pair of arms grab him under his knees, a worried voice calling out his name and rank. Lady Slava’s warmth was gone. He hoped he could say thank you, but for now?

_He was exhausted. _


	14. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peaceful rain and a rare smile

_ **“We can’t travel any further tonight, not in this weather.”** _

_ **“First thing tomorrow, then?”** _

_ **“…we’ll see.”** _

It was raining for two days now. Heavy, relentless rainfall assaulted the tent as Slava turned yet another page of the book on the history of Askr. There were some symbols she didn’t know yet, blossoming on the page like wildflowers, and she reached for the quill to note them down for when they arrive back to the capital. The rhythm of water hitting the canvas above made for wonderful studying ambience, and the smell of food being prepared just a few meters away from her calmed her nerves and anxiety of being in the middle of the enemy territory. 

Someone laughed as they got their hand slapped when trying to taste the hot soup. Was it Ephraim? Perhaps Marth? Draug’s armor was obscuring her vision a bit, and she leaned a bit to the left, just to witness Chrom, the sacred exalt himself, get told off by Jakob who was waving a ladle at him furiously, splashing bits of potatoes onto the bystanders. Fortunately, no one was mad at him for that, and they all just laughed a bit and continued to do their business, now emitting a pleasant smell of dinner and spices. 

The sun was slowly setting behind the thick forest that surrounded them - the day patrol was supposed to arrive hours ago, and even though Frederick, who took upon himself controlling the guard flow in the absence of general Anna, ensured her that there was no need to worry and perhaps something simply required more examination, Slava couldn’t help but tap her fingers nervously against the rough material of the pages. She knew that they could handle themselves, but the anxiety was always there, eating at her heart. She made yet another note on the symbols (this time reminding her of an eel curling around itself), and sighed, not being able to concentrate on the intricate pictures drawn generations before her own. 

“Lady Slava?” someone spoke above her, and she hummed in response, not looking up. “I need someone to come with me to the armory tent, to cosign the equipment.”  
“Sure thing.” she said. She stood up, dusting off her long skirt and smiled softly at the female next to her. “Give me just a moment to grab my jacket, Caeda.”   
Slava grabbed the belt that sported the holster for Breidablik, and put it on. It fit her like a glove - custom made, and strong, designed and created to last the toughest of battles. A spot to place a dagger. An inclination for a vial of poison. A pouch for herbs. It had all of her essentials, and honestly? She’d be lost if she didn’t have it with her. Like a phone. She supposed that the theories about people not letting go of their phones in XXIst century were more about convenience than addiction. 

She bit her thumb, drawing a bit of blood. With the other hand she reached to her side, unhooking the sacred weapon from its loop.   
Caeda watched curiously, first time witnessing these actions up close. From the delicate words recited from the summoners’ lips to the careful way her fingers, including the one that was still oozing blood, wrapped around the handle. The weapon absorbed the blood like the soil absorbs morning dew, and the usually blue glass parts gave off a slightly red glow.   
What started as a gentle shimmer at the top of Slava’s hair, in a blink of an eye turned into a white and gold cloak, the recognisable gear of the Order of Heroes’ Summoner. 

“Shall we go then?” Slava asked, pulling the hood on, and mentally preparing herself for the cold rain. Caeda nodded, and they both left the tent, maneuvering between resting heroes and soldiers alike.

As expected, the rainfall was still washing over the forest, the roar of the falling water almost deafening. Slava winced and pulled the cloak closer to her body, the chill getting through to her simple skirt and blouse. “Please, lead the way,” she said to Caeda, and the said woman nodded, turning against the cutting rain and heading towards the small gray tent at the edge of the settlement. Slava cursed in her head - this way she’ll surely catch a cold, and without modern medicine it will be a pain to get over it. 

The inside of the armory tent wasn’t a place that she could take a breather either - only the personel tents were made out of thick material - the equipment shelter was made out of cloth that was just begging to be ripped. It wasn’t wet inside, thank the Gods, but it was surely cold.   
“How much do we have to check?” Slava asked as she wiped the stray droplets of water from her face. Caeda hummed, taking a piece of parchment out of her pocket.  
“Just the lances.” she answered, smiling as she heard an audible sigh of relief leave Slava’s lips. “The rest was checked yesterday, and signed by prince Alfonse.”  
“Why not lances though?”  
“Some of them were in repair and refinement, and we decided that we’d rather wait until today to get them all together first.”   
“I see.”

Clinking and clanging of metal filled the tent as Slava and Caeda began to count the lances. One, ten, fifty- the sun was setting lower and lower. Soon it was completely dark, and even though Slava made sure to listen in for the familial clanking of armor, nothing was heard outside of the armory aside from the thunderous roar of rain and eventual animal growling.  
She sighed, putting aside the final lance (most likely belonging to Prince Ephraim or Prince Dimitri, though the other was most likely since Prince Ephraim always had his by his side). She stretched, a few bones popping back into place loudly. Slava made a note to drink more milk.

“Where do I sign?” she asked Caeda, and extended her hand to grab the eventually coming paper.  
“At the bottom. Thank you so much for your help, Lady Slava.”  
“Please, no more of that ‘lady’ stuff” Slava groaned as she scribbled down her name below the long paragraph.  
“I’m sorry, it’s only fitting.” Caeda laughed in response as she glanced at the pitch black surroundings of the tent. “I think the rain is letting up a bit.”

Indeed, the rumble of the water was growing ever so quieter, and from beyond that wall of sound, Slava could slightly make out a loud chatter of men, heavy footsteps and echoing calls to the entrance watch. Caeda looked at the summoner, who was now hastily putting her cloak back on. Her face seemed brighter, any sign of tiredness gone in a blink.  
“I’ll be going then!” she said as she waved her hand at the blue-haired female and bolted out of the tent, into the pouring rain.

Caeda couldn’t help but smile as she watched the most powerful person in the order laugh like a child as she reached the incoming patrol, shouting the name of the Prince of Askr, who covered in mud and wet grass opened his arms to welcome her in.

Reunions are a wonderful thing.


End file.
